Prelude to Notes about Art and Artists

I plan/hope to write some notes about art and artists, about Bacon, Freud, Auerbach, Reinhardt, Stella, Newman, Westermann, Hopper and Duncan Wylie as well as a general text about What is a Metaphysical Artist? in the course of this month, I am pseudo-overdue with it, apart from that always jumping between disciplines, but this is a good thing since via such pseudo-circuitous routes (actually hypercycles) you may be able to add more value to the initial stuff in the end. In this context I also studied stuff about the most contemporary art and tried to get it and despite my sensational intelligence and erudition I still feel unsure about how to catch the metaphysics in it (I do not deny that there is some, yet is diffused, haha, the postmodern condition; postmodernity is but an age bygone, New Realism in philosophy may serve as a tool to get the whole structure again and its pseudo-fractal-like geometry, etc.)

After attending the opening of the new Tracey Emin retrospective at the Hayward Gallery, I’m finally ready to come out and say it.

Stephen Faust Art meant little to me, except as something other people did, until I was about 19, when the 1 to 1 relationship between symbol and substance of science gave over to the many to 1 and the 1 to many truths of art, and one began to explore and comprehend the logics of ex temporae appropriation of substance to symbols and of symbol to substances that most human beings engage of in their vacillating consciousness, where many to many logics abound, as the profound of the substance symbolized meets the symbols of substances utilised of their seekings for satisfactions. Get this about Art, one might say: „Many are the ways, but they are not all. My many and your many may be spoken of in many ways, and their meeting might well be Art speaking, to you; to me, there are many things I have to do, and many things within me which would sing, and, no matter what the symbol, if it does ring of truth to you, others may not hear it; if it brings my truth to you, are you sure you did not queer it; and if it rings of truth from me, can you be sure that you got near it ? If my art did not speak to more than myself, then t’were silence the greater art.“